Fun and Games
by Pikeru's Angel
Summary: It was all fun and games until the explosion happened there. After that... well, everything just fell to pieces. Eventual Jim/John. Motson? Wariarty?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Sequel to Imaginary Friends. You don't have to read it... but you'll be incredibly confused if you don't.**

{][][}

John was in Afghanistan for almost two years before being invalided home.

For almost two years Jim was pretty much alone. Oh, he talked to Molly (and her new boyfriend), but they weren't friends on any sort of level. Everyone else, as per usual, just stayed away. He didn't bother trying to branch out. What was the point? People saw him, catalogued him, and left. It was almost like when he was a kid, except he just stopped getting mad. People could do or say whatever they liked, and it was probably true.

There was one other person, but Jim could never bring up the nerve to talk to him; Sherlock Holmes. A consulting detective who occasionally borrowed the Bart's lab equiptment to run tests for his cases. Jim had never met the man personally, but Molly talked about him and it was impossible not to see the man in the computer labs at least once a day. Jim had tried bringing up coffee one time, just as a conversation starter, but he ended up turning tail the second Sherlock was in view and downed the black with two sugars on his way to lunch.

He ended up getting the new flat during this time, which was good.. It was old in Victorian style, down on Montauge Street. Not a terrible walk to work (the tube was too public and, lets admit it, cabs could be expensive) and the rent wasn't half bad. It just seemed a bit… big. Jim wasn't sure why, because the flat itself was actually rather small. Maybe he just wasn't used to living alone.

When John did get back Jim wasn't sure whether to be elated or upset. The older man had gotten shot in the shoulder and he had this limp that he simply would not explain. Jim figured it was psychosymatic, but he wasn't sure.

Months passed. John had downright refused any sort of offer to share accomidations ("If I end up having to leave for any reason you're going to keep it even if it _is_ draining all your funds, and I won't let you do that again,").

Oddly, they lost touch for a few days after John went out to lunch with another friend from uni (Mike Stamford, wasn't it?), which was completely unlike him in every respect. When he did drop by the limp was gone and he said he was sharing a flat with none other than Sherlock Holmes and asked for Jim to drop by. The younger man offered a weak smile and nodded, grabbing his coat off the rack and setting off behind his friend.

Luckily, Sherlock hadn't been home that day. Something about a new case.

From that day on things were sort of boring, for Jim at least. John was having the time of his life living with a mad man and helping with the many cases that crossed his path. He didn't have a lot of free time between work and his "hobby", but he was happy at least.

When either of them did have a free moment they would drop by, get a coffee. They would sit and talk in Baker Street, more often than not, and it was exactly like when they were sharing the flat. Crackling fire, a good cup of tea, and just talking about whatever popped up. Ally and Kay, new cases, relationships (which always made Jim blush and look away).

It was in June, almost five months after John had come home, that there was a bomb scare near Jim's apartment. The flat directly across had blown up from a gas leak and two people had died. The police had suggested that he stay with a friend for a while, just until the investigation was closed. Who else would Jim stay with but John?

And thus, the game began.


	2. Chapter 2

**0734, June fourth, 2010**

It was a perfectly normal day in Baker Street. Not just in a "normal for 221B" sort of way, but in a "normal for a good potion of the world" sort of way. It was quiet and peaceful on a Saturday morning. Sherlock was asleep in his room after flying back from Minsk, Jim was staying after his street got blown up, and John was the first one up and making tea. Okay, so maybe the circumstances of Jim's staying weren't so normal, but just about everything else was. It was almost nice, but the 221B normal was better if you asked John. It was annoying at times, perhaps (like when he had a date), but overall it was just more fun. Except when Sherlock started shooting things, of course. That was where John drew the line.

He sighed contentedly, taking a long drink from his mug. As averse as he was to green tea, he had to admit that Jim did have good taste. Not to say it was good, but it just wasn't bad like green tea usually was. John was more of an English breakfast fan, or just plain coffee if he was tired. Still, green tea wasn't half bad if it was the right one.

There was a sudden knock at the door, ruining any sense of calm in the flat. It would probably be a client for Sherlock. John sighed, mentally steeling himself for running, no sleep, no food, and then some more running. Oh, and the possibility of having to dress in drag, but he wouldn't get into that… All he could say on that particular case was that they had needed Jim's help because he could actually pull it off almost as well as Sherlock and that John did not look good in heels. He had no intention of ever writing that one up.

"Hullo," he said as he opened the door. Two young women stood there, both a bit shorter than him and possibly in their mid to late twenties. One was blond, her curled hair put up loosely while her companion kept her slightly frizzed brown hair down. They both smiled the second the door opened, and the blond grabbed him in a tight hug.

"Johnny!" She said excitedly. "Hope we didn't drop by too early. We heard what happened with Jim's apartment and I wanted to see if he was okay." She pulled away, still grinning like a loon. John blinked, tea still in his hands, before setting down the cup with a shake of the head.

"Nice to see you too, Ally." He said with a smile. They dropped by without announcement far too often, but to the very least they were at a familiar age this time. The last time they had only been teenagers, which was a bit awkward. John had never liked having to explain what had been going on when they "already" knew. "Mind making Jim a cuppa while I go get him?"

Kay nodded, dragging her friend off to the kitchen. She said something in an admonishing tone that John didn't catch and Ally smacked her upside the head as she was wont to do. John couldn't count how many times he had said something idiotic and that was the result. Well, he could, but he lost count around thirty or so.

With a smirk he knocked on Jim's door (well, his own door, but he'd let Jim take his bedroom) loudly, knowing the younger man enjoyed his sleep more than anything else on a Saturday. He usually slept in until, to the very least, eleven o'clock.

There was a groan, then a thud, and the door slowly opened. Jim stood there, eyes half lidded with sleep and usually immaculate hair sticking out in every direction. He ran a hand through his hair absently, blinking once before speaking. "What John?" He asked in an annoyed tone, voice still thick with sleep. One of the few times he literally couldn't stutter. "It's a bloody Saturday and not even eight in the morning. How the hell are you even lucid at this time?"

John shrugged innocently, eyes wandering over Jim's form. Covered in an overly large t-shirt and a pair of boxers he looked kind of… sexy. "Just thought you'd want to know that Ally and Kay are here. Waiting downstairs and getting themselves a cuppa. If you don't want to see them though…"

The younger man snapped up, suddenly awake. He slammed the door, hurriedly telling John that he would be out in a moment, and could he get his mug out please? John snickered, some part of him sighing in a disappointed manner. If he knew Jim at all then he would take at least fifteen minutes. He was always self conscious, more so around people he knew than strangers. Even just rolling out of bed he had tried to flatten his bed-head spiked hair (which John honestly thought was cute). He never saw himself in a good light in any sense, and it had always been a huge problem, more so when he went on dates (that John set him up on) than anything else.

Just like John thought fifteen minutes later, on the dot, Jim came down. His hair was combed through and he had put on a pair of jeans and one of his button up work shirts. John gave him a half smile, handing over the fresh mug of tea. He didn't even notice when their fingers brushed, so he didn't know why there was suddenly a light pink dusting over Jim's face. Ally, however, raised an eyebrow.

She smiled, taking Jim's mug before he could even think of taking a sip, practically dragging him toward the door. Kay shook her in a long suffering manner, giving John a weak smile. "She spotted something, I suppose," the brunette said. "We'll be back in a couple hours. If not, you know where Costa's is." John shrugged back at her, and cleaned up the forgotten mug.

{][][}

Jim had to practically dig his heels into the ground just to get Ally to pause once they were out the door. People stared, and Jim could feel the originally light flush of his face going a deep pink. "W-where are w-we going?" He asked exasperatedly, trying in vain to make his friend stop; she was a lot stronger than she looked. "We h-haven't seen you t-two in a year. Don't-t you want to, y-you know, catch up?" Ally stopped, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for Kay to round the corner.

Finally, Kay was beside them, a mock scolding look on her face. Ally ignored it, plowing on. "How long have you been in love with John?"

Several passers by stopped, and eyebrows were raised at the rather audacious young woman. A few even gave them mild looks of disgust, the gits, and went about their business. It was painfully obvious that Ally wasn't talking to the woman by her side. Some people were simply closed minded, which bugged the living hell out of the more open minded people.

There was a moment of awkward silence, a tinge of red slowly making its way to Jim's ears.

"I-I'm not…" He protested weakly. "And h-he isn-n't… Wouldn't-t consider…" Ally raised her hands above her head, looking up to the Heavans.

"Can you not answer a simple question? How. Long?"

Jim groaned, looking down at his shoes as he continued towards Costa's. "Five years. I started getting a crush on him when we were kids, but it started developing five years ago."

With a quiet snicker Kay placed a hand on her charges shoulder. "That doesn't answer the question, Jimmy. How long have you been _in_ love with him, not just love him?"

Biting his lip, Jim opened the door to the small Italian café. "Four months."

The youngest of the group strolled past, a wide grin on her face as she turned around and kept walking. "Then we need to help you get him!" She said in a delighted tone. "Not really my area… but we'll make it work for advice giving. And, you know, nudging you two in the right direction"

A final groan escaped Jim's mouth, and he made him way to their customary table. It was going to be a long few days.

{][][}

By the time the little meeting was over Jim was not overly hopeful about the plan working. The plan itself came straight out a romance novel (literally), and included a pool, a sexy pair of swimming trunks, and being dragged under water and/or into the earlier mentioned pool. Of course, Jim would be doing the dragging, which made things about ten times harder; he wasn't good with going out of his normal personality, which certainly did not including dragging his "crush" into a darkened swimming pool in a "TARDIS".

Another reason for the niggling doubt was Jim's past relationship history. The women he had dated when he went through that brief phase were more often than not using him to get to John. The men… well, that was just one big disaster after another. Either cheaters or addicts looking for money. Jim had been found to be the _perfect _enabler for two reasons. First, he was terrified if he didn't do thing to conform to the other person they would leave. The second reason was that he _had no spine_. When he was younger -before Ally and Kay- he had his it behind a giant brain and false bravado. That had left him a long time ago.

That was connected to another reason he wasn't hopeful. John had always had a specific type, and it certainly wasn't anyone like Jim. Everyone he dated were strong and confident, but not in a cocky way. They actually stood up for themselves. And then there was the Sherlock factor that pretty much drained his chances to zero…

Still, against all his better juegement, he asked John to come to the pool that night. Not like he was asking the older man out for a date of course (though Sherlock still raised an eyebrow), but just in a "mates going to hang out" way. His stutter was a lot worse as he asked, though John by no stretch of imagination, and it was set.

Jim was going on a date with John Watson.

The only problem wad that John didn't know it yet.

{][][}

**A/N: Whoo hoo! you see where this is going, dpon't you? You're in for a surprise though... ;)**

**~Piki :B**


	3. Chapter 3

Soft footsteps on wet tile and near silent muttering. It echoes and echoes through the empty pool, and suddenly there's silence. A door starts to creak open, then hesitates.

"…doesn't even know it's a date…"

The words ring through John's mind, and suddenly he wished he had put on one of his jumpers instead of a t-shirt. A very skin tight t-shirt. That shouldn't make anything awkward though, right? This wasn't a date… Certainly not. Not in that context. Jim absolutely, positively would not ask John of all people out on a date.

Nervously he walked in, shivering as bare feet met the tiles. He took the moment that Jim didn't know he was there to, quite frankly, ogle a bit. He didn't often se his friend shirtless, and _certainly_ not in swim trunks that sexy. He was thin, painfully so, but not entirely to the point of being unhealthy and there was wiry muscle running under the skin from all the years spent swimming. There were small, pale scars that nearly blended in to the ivory shade near the shoulders and upper arms, crisscrossing over each other. If john looked carefully enough he could swear he made out initials, though that had to be his imagination. Of course it was. It was just from accident at the pool, or from when he was younger or…

_Or from Seb, which he still won't talk to you about._ His mind supplied rather unhelpfully. Even after twenty years Jim refused to talk about it or fill in the missing pieces in John's memory.

Clearing that thought soundly from his mind John cleared his throat. Jim finally stopped his mad pacing, whipping around with a dark blush already settling on his cheeks. There was a brief awkward silence, the only sound in that moment the pounding of twin hearts.

It took a moment for John to find his voice again. "Sherlock's been looking for you about his newest case. All day." He cringed internally. That just made him sound like an arse, didn't it? "He refused to look for you in here. He still thinks we're insane for all the Guardian stuff and he and Ally had a rousing debate about it. Apparently Mycroft was one of their charges." He smiled softly, and Jim returned the action hesitantly, eyes flickering around the room as though looking for an escape route. John honestly did not blame him, because the atmosphere was getting more awkward by the second and he couldn't figure out why. They were just two friends chatting at a pool after all. So why the hell did it feel like a blind date?

"I-I'll, err, go t-talk to him later." Jim replied with a nod, turning and sitting at the edge of the pool. He glanced over his shoulder, nodding for John to join him. The older man did without a second thought, hoping the closer proximity would ease some of the tension.

He kicked off his shoes, lopping down beside his younger friend and placing his feet in the chlorinated water, the smell burning his nose. He stared out into the crystalline blue, glancing over as Jim practically melted from his spot and into the pool. He was so distracted by the graceful movements (abut the only time Jim was graceful, if one was to be honest) that he didn't notice the sudden warmth wrapping around wrist or the blush spreading across pale cheeks until he was in the water himself.

For less than fifteen seconds John was under, but he was still spluttering and hacking when he came back up. Almost immediately he felt Jim's hand on his shoulder, voice fearful as he asked if John was okay. The blond waved it off with a dismissive hand, trying to catch his breath.

"I'm fine, Jim." He said between coughs. "Just a bit surprised is all." He glanced over at Jim, taking in the emotions flickering clearly in dark eyes. Fear, nervousness, and embarrassment all seemed to swirl in the dark orbs as he stuttered out apologies.

John raised a hand, stopping the stuttering in its tracks. "It's okay, Jim." He said, keeping his voice as calming and peaceful as possible.

"No i-it isn't-t." Jim replied, shaking his head and splaying drops of water everywhere. "Th-that was s-stupid. I-I don't know w-what came over me." He kept his eyes firmly down, teeth chattering inside his skull.

With one sharp movement John took Jim's chin, trying to ignore the younger man's flinch as his head was pulled up to where he was looking directly into hazel eyes. "Jim, listen to me. It. Is. Fine. I can't count how many times I've done that to you. It would be a bit hypocritical for me to be upset, don't you think?" He didn't know how, but it seemed they were getting closer and closer together with each word, faces inches apart.

Neither would ever be sure who closed that gap. All they new was that one moment they were apart, the next their lips firmly pressed together.

Seconds later, Jim pulled away, cheeks flushed and panting despite how brief the contact was. His eyes widened at the look of shock on John's face, and he could feel tears welling up in his eyes.

He scrambled away and out of the pool, hands raised like someone expecting a hit of some sort. "I-I'm s-s-sorry, I'm s-sorry," he said hurriedly, tripping over himself as he left. "D-d-didn't m-mean to… I'm s-so sorry, J-John." The doors gave a resounding slam as he left.

It took John five minutes to be able to do more than tread water and gape, and another ten to come to what might have been the most important revelation of his adult life.

_Jim's in love with me._

"Oh my God…" He whispered

{][][}

Jim was running. He had no idea where he was running to -though in the halls of 42 it would be easy enough to get lost. All he knew was what he was running from.

_Stupid, stupid, __**stupid**__! _His mind reprimanded _What the hell were you thinking kissing John like that? Okay, you don't know who kissed whom, but the point is _you didn't pull away_! He probably hates you now, doing what you did. Why mess with a good thing? All you had to do was suffer in silence and try to find someone else. You can't even keep your mouth shut - in both senses I might add._

His train of thought was cut off a that as he made a sharp turn around a corner before finding himself on the floor. Good way to stop thinking about something, falling on the floor. The only thing running through your mind then was a sort of stunned pain.

Sherlock glared down at him (and wasn't that scary, a pissed off Sherlock), holding out a hand. "I've been trying to find you all day." He said with a scowl, and with a shaking hand Jim took the detective's. "Need your help with a case. Scotland Yard is being incompetent - again. It has to do with the bombings cropping up, including the one by your apartment."

Blinking dully, Jim responded. "But th-that was a-a gas l-leak." Sherlock actually scoffed.

"No, they assumed it was gas leak. All the signed were there that it wasn't As I may have mentioned, Scotland Yard is being incompetent." Still holding tightly to Jim's hand he started walking, forcing the younger man to stumble after him. Sherlock had naturally long and quick strides from his height, which only made it harder for Jim to keep up without falling.

There was the slam of a door and Jim took a second to appreciate that he was no longer moving. It was during this second that he had a case file shoves into his hand. Not a case file, several. Several case files, some thin and some thick, were shoved over to him and Sherlock stares expectantly from the bed.

Jim opened his mouth, contemplating speech, before shutting it and sitting in a chair in the corner. He opened the files, flicking through them and reading only what was circled in pencil or highlighted - the circling from Sherlock and the highlighting from Scotland Yard. Not a lot could be considered useful by any stretch, but it was only a matter of time before Jim started to notice a pattern.

"I-I know th-them." He said quietly, gaze flickering up to Sherlock. "Th-the people who g-got bombed. T-two of them w-work with m-me, I knew th-the people across the s-street, and th-this one-" he pointed to a name, holding up the paper. "-I-is the f-f-florist who g-gave me a j-job in college." It was probably just a coincidence though, right? Surely Jim himself wasn't the connection. Though it did seem a bit odd that he knew the main targets of each bombing.

The dark haired man hummed in agreement. "There's also an older case that I think might be connected. A boy from Sussex had a fit in a swimming pool. We also have the main suspects file in the back. A lawyer with a juvenile criminal record." Jim nodding, skipping right over Carl Power's case and going straight to the suspect file.

**Sebastian Moran.**

It took all of Jim's self control just to make it to the bathroom before he threw up.

He took a shuddering breath, leaning over the sink, before speaking.

"Sh-sherlock… L-leave this c-c-case. Y-you don't know wh-what you're d-d-dealing w-with. K-keep it with the p-p-police." Sherlock had the nerve to chuckle at that, and Jim could feel an unfamiliar anger building in his chest that he couldn't fully repress. For the first time since he was fourteen years old, Jim couldn't push it into a dark corner of his mind.

"But don't we have the advantage?" the detective drawled. "Knowing someone who knows the killer could be considered such."

The younger man stood up abruptly, and the files fell to the floor with an under dramatic thud. Sherlock looked momentarily stunned.

"_Knew,_ Sherlock. Don't you dare affiliate me with that-that _psychopath_ in present tense." He seethed, voice raised slightly. "And I _never_ knew him. I never knew a goddamn thing about him other than he liked to turn people into his _pets_. Like he _owned_ them. And you know what? He owned me to." It took barely a moment for Sherlock to rein in his shock, putting back on his cool mask as he replied.

"But that's something, is it not?" He asked, voice perfectly calm. "Now will you help me with this case or not?"

For a moment all was quiet. Jim took a deep breath, hands clenched into tight fists at his side and his jaw tense, as though trying to hold back on snapping at the detective. He had always known he wasn't good with the more… explosive emotions. When he was younger he would cut anyone down to size with biting words if they tried to cross him, and at seven he had honestly been contemplating the murder of Carl Power's. When Ally and Kay came into the picture, even in their absence, he got better. The obvious personality faults were better than an explosive temper hidden under the surface, after all. Anger had been waiting, pent up, for years until just the right buttons were pushed.

Seb was one of those buttons.

"No, I will not help you with the case." Jim said bitingly, the words burning like acid and louder than thunder. "I have moved on from that part of my life, you complete and utter _bastard_. Not get the _hell out!_" He panted, teeth still gritted so hard you could almost hear them going up against each other. Sherlock seemed… unmoved.

He raised on thin eyebrow, taking one step forward. The eyebrow went higher as Jim held his ground. "Have you moved on?" He asked in an almost conversational tone, but there was hidden venom in the words. "Or have you repressed it? Because I may note, _James_, that you have neither stammered nor tripped over your words _once_ during this whole conversation. I would consider that quite a mean feat for someone who spends most of their life doing such, wouldn't you?

Jim sighed, but his position held strong. "What the _hell_ do you want me to say?"

And suddenly Sherlock was close, far too close, with a hand tracing the scars on Jim's shoulder. _S.M._

"I want you to show me he hasn't won," he whispered, and Jim shuddered at hot air ghosted over his skin. "I want you to help me take him down."

Sherlock more saw than felt himself being pushed away. He stared unwaveringly as Jim ran a hand through his dripping locks, letting out a broken whisper.

"_I can't._"

The phone started ringing.

{][][}

**A/N: Dun dun duuuun! XD**

**Oh my gosh! *gasp* Jim has a spine! Well, he sort of has a spine. Still, can you believe it? Why, who'da thunk it?**

**I like this chapter. I really, really like this chapter. Who can guess what's at the other end of my mediocre cliffhanger? Other than, you know, everyone...**

**Ya'll know review actually do make us write faster, right? Just checking. ;)**

**~Piki :B**


	4. Chapter 4

Of course, Sherlock had inadvertently managed to drag them both into what was usually Jim's bedroom. Out of the seventeen rooms throughout 42, it was the one room Jim always stayed in without fail. Which meant his phone -the iPhone with the Star Trek casing that John got him- was on the desk. The sharp ringing cut through the air, and both men froze.

Almost violently, Jim pushed past the older man, stumbling over to the phone on the second ring. He pressed it up to his ear, letting out a shaky greeting. He didn't even bother checking who it was.

"_James!_" Came the delighted voice on the other end, and Jim's blood ran cold.

"_So good to hear from you again, how has my pet been doing? Why, we haven't seen each other in eighteen years. Not since I was sentenced; pretty lucky I got off with only the assault charge, am I right?_"

The voice had changed over the years. It was deeper, more menacing somehow. Promises of old ownership layered his voice, but there was only one reason Jim could tell it was still Seb. No one had ever called him James, not even his own mother, except for him. It showed that he didn't belong to anyone else…and never would. Even now no one called him James.

"What do you want?" He asked with a distinct tremor in his words. Sherlock turned around, one eyebrow cocked, as he tried to hear the voice on the other end of the line as it replied.

"_You know that little café on Northumberland Street? The one we went to when my mum drove us to London?_" Jim shuddered. "_I was thinking we'd meet up there. Catch up. You can stop all of this know, James, just by saying yes. No more bombings, no more death. All you need to do is give yourself up. I'm the only one that loves you…and the only one that ever will. You can have that back. I won't even touch Johnny for trying to fool you—promise._"

There was a pause, and Jim could feel the tears welling in his eyes. It was true though, wasn't it? No one wanted him and no one ever would. John was just an irregularity; someone who befriended him out of pity for the quiet boy with the stutter.

"_I'll see you in two hours, James._"

Two hours. He had two hours.

Slowly, he put the phone down, shoulders rising and falling with each deep breath.

"I can't help you with this case, Sherlock."

And he bolted.

{][][}

John was getting worried. He had looked everywhere in 42, the local pool, and Bart's and still hadn't found Jim. It had been over two hours since they had kissed in the pool, and John had tried Jim's cell phone several times. No answer, of course. It wasn't all that surprising; the younger man was probably scared out of his wits about the whole incident, might not be seen for days, trying to work up the courage to come by again.

When he did get back to the flat he checked his phone, eye widening when he realized there was a message. From Jim; he put the phone up to his ear, brows furrowed.

"_J-J-John, I-I think I'll be f-finding a n-n-new place. Ple-please don't c-contact me for a bi-bit. I n-need to get my-myself straightened out._" A pause and Jim gulped into the phone, "_I… I love you, and I'm sorry._"

There was the familiar click of the phone being disconnected, but there was something before that.

Surely someone saying "good boy" had just been in passing?

{][][}

The small café was exactly how Jim remembered it. Dark, gloomy, and more than a bit creepy; it was why Seb had picked it. He had liked the atmosphere. Jim had just thought it was eerie. The owner clearly had some sort of interest in the occult.

He bit his lip, resisting the urge to run a hand through his hair. Instead he nervously smoothed the creases from his light blue shirt, making sure his appearance was as immaculate as possible without wearing a suit or tie. He hoped he was at least presentable. Someone like Seb, if he had stayed at all the same, wouldn't stand for untidiness.

Just as was walking toward the door, giving himself one last once over, a black car pulled up at the side of the road. The door opened smoothly, and he heard a voice calling him over. There were plenty of James' in the world, especially in London, but only he would have been called with that tone. The kind you used when you called over a beloved pet. But that was what he was, right? Nothing more than a pet for someone's entertainment.

Walking over to the car almost mechanically he slid into the car, keeping his eyes down. "Hello, Seb." He whispered, forcing his voice to steady as he shut the door.

The sharp sound of skin on skin rang through the air, and Jim clutched at his stinging cheek. He glanced up at Seb, noting the other man's perfectly cool face. He looked back down again hurriedly.

"You don't get to call me that anymore, James." The older man said. "You lost that privilege when you started breaking my rules. It's just sir, for now. You might be able to earn that back though."

Jim nodded, feeling his throat closing up in fear. "Yes sir."

Seb broke in to a wide grin, placing a hand on a slim shoulder and squeezing to the point that it was painful.

"Glad we understand each other. Now we need to set some ground rules. First, you look me in the eyes when I let you. Talking is restricted; the more rules you break the less you can do. You remember that much, right?" He ran a hand over Jim's face, thumb stroking unknown patterns across his jaw. "And of course we need to cut your hair. You know I like it short."

His smile shrunk a bit, turning more sadistic by the second. "And since you've broken so many rules I think I'll have some fun with that." He said, tone almost seductive. "But we'll get to that later."

Jim reached up subconsciously, fingers tracing at the scars in his shoulder; the marks of ownership that had been sliced into him at the age of nine. He couldn't remember what rule he'd broken at the time, but it had been one of the bigger ones, he was sure of that.

And now he'd broken almost all of them.

"Not a lot of people would do this, you know." Seb continued, leaning back in his seat. "Give themselves up for the 'greater good.' I'll continue, of course, but I won't be quite so public. I won't even touch that soldier boy you've grown so fond of, as long as you keep following the rules. Lives will still be lost, but you've saved a few I suppose; doesn't change the fact that you're still a coward—always have been." He raised a hand, smiling softly as Jim flinched. "I love that about you. So afraid of being rejected; that someone will accept you then throw you aside. It makes things so much easier."

Jim nodded wordlessly, glancing out the window as London passed by. Seb  
chuckled, taking Jim's phone and pulling it out.

"You learn quickly, James, I have to give you that. Now," he handed back the phone. "I want you to call John. No, don't get that look in your eye yet. I want you to tell him you're leaving, finding a new apartment. Make sure to emphasize that you don't want to see him for some time."

Taking the phone, Jim nodded slowly. He dialed John's number quickly, deflating slightly when he got the answering machine. He'd been hoping to talk to the older man. He doubted he'd be able to any time soon.

"J-J-John, I-I think I'll be f-finding a n-n-new place," he started slowly.

"Ple-please don't c-contact me for a bi-bit. I n-need to get my-myself straightened out." He paused briefly, swallowing as he considered the consequences of what he was about to say. "I… I love you, and I'm sorry." He winced as Seb grabbed his shoulder, squeezing tightly enough to where Jim could actually feel the bruise forming.

"Good boy," the dark haired man hissed, and Jim pressed the end call button.

"You shouldn't have fallen in love though. Just another thing we need to add to the list of broken rules." He shrugged, finally releasing and Jim gasped, grabbing the affronted limb. He didn't know why he hadn't been expecting it, to be honest, it's how it always used to be.

Things never really changed, Jim noted dully, when Seb got involved.

Maybe it was for the best.

{][][}

**A/N: :/ Merr...**

**Not sure about this, but I know from a good source (and beta) that it's okay I s'pose.**

**Which remindes me: thanks to jenamy. for beta-ing this! You are awesome dude. You and your free time. ;)**

**~Piki :B**


	5. Chapter 5

After some uncountable amount of time the car stopped. Jim kept his eyes devoutly trained at the ground, as he has through the whole ride. Placidly he allowed himself to be led out of the car and into the basement apartment they had arrived at. The building itself was nice and rather cheery, not to mention completely unlike Seb's usual style. That was probably the point though - anyone who knew his tastes wouldn't even dream of a place like this as a center of operations. Which meant that no one would suspect, which was all the worse for Jim.

Because, in a nice neighborhood like that, no one would thinks anything of two men getting out of a black car and going to the cheery basement apartment. Just a nice couple moving in together. No one would notice any signs of violence (they wouldn't be looking) or how Jim trailed behind like a lost dog (they would think he was shy, which, while true, wasn't the case). They wouldn't find anything suspicious.

Seb probably had the apartment soundproofed too. So no one in the apartments above heard anything suspicious, of course. He would put it under the ruse of having a band, in all likely hood, and that he didn't want to be a nuance to everyone in the vicinity. Were people really that stupid? That naïve? Normally Jim just dealt with it and ignored it, but in that moment it was unbelievable. How did no one notice anything? How didn't anyone _see_?

_What is it Sherlock always says?_ He thought, biting his lip as Seb opened up the door. _They see they just don't observe or some such. I never thought I'd actually agree with that._

As expected, the apartment was cheery despite the modern style to it. The paint was an old faded yellow that clashed harshly with the dark woods and black-and-white furniture, but that probably wasn't by choice.

Jim didn't even have a second to process this before Seb beaconed him to a spare room by the bedroom. In was simple, probably supposed to be an office, and a dull shade of grey. There was a single bed in the center of the room, pushed up against the wall with a dresser just opposite of it. A small click resounded in the near empty space as the door locked, but Jim couldn't bring himself to be scared. He had asked for this, so he honestly couldn't complain. Besides, he was already so used to it. There had just been… a deviation in routine for a bit.

"Come here, James." Seb said huskily, and Jim averted his eyes.

"Y-yes sir." He responded quietly, walking quietly over and standing in front of the bed, head hung. There was a hard crack, and Jim fell back on the bed with the force of the slap.

"What did I always tell you about that damn stutter?" Seb asked with a scowl. "_I don't want to hear it_. Now shirt off and lie face down on the bed. Perhaps you can redeem yourself be being a good boy."

Nodding silently shaky fingers brought themselves up, clumsily unbuttoning the light blue shit before folding it and placing it on the floor. Jim submissively completed the second part of the order, wincing as his hands were sharply brought over his head. There was the clinking of metal when his hands were cuffed to the bed. It was like one of those kink scenes, only not quite with consent from both parties. Not that Seb needed it, and Jim could have always said no to getting in the car.

A few minutes later there was the sound of something thin being brought through the air, and Jim tried desperately not to cry out as the riding crop hit his back, nearly drawing blood with the force of it. Making noise always used to make it worse or last longer.

Needing some sort of outlet he whimpered quietly, flinching away again as calloused hands danced over the new wound.

Seb sighed contentedly, placing a far-too gentle kiss on Jim's temple and making the hair on the younger man's neck stand up. "Remember how it was always a couple of hits or small cuts whenever you didn't do as asked, James?" He asked rhetorically (or Jim hoped it was rhetorical). "You've broken a lot of rules. I think ten, maybe twenty to start with. Then we can move on to something more fun." The younger man shuddered, closing his eyes as another hard strike came down. This time he couldn't stop a small whimper.

_If he kills me by accident,_ he couldn't help but thinking,_ would anyone even care enough to plan my funeral? To mourn?_

Just like when he was ten, falling out his bedroom window, he was sure the answer was no. Why would anyone care now? He didn't even care anymore.

{][][}

It had been one hour since Jim's call, three since he had ran off, when Lestrade called.

For the first time in months he called John rather than Sherlock, telling the doctor to get down to the station. That is was important. Needless to say John was there as quickly as possible (about fifteen minutes).

Upon arriving he literally ran to the DI's office, ignoring anyone that tried to stop him and bursting through the door. Lestrade stood up, grabbing a small envelope off the desk. "It's for you. We found it in a strong box outside Moriarty's apartment." John's brow furrowed as he took the envelope. It felt wrong somehow; like it shouldn't have been happening. A lot of things felt like that after he met Jim, but he put it off as the Angels changing time. (He didn't know what was supposed to happen to Jim, and never would because the files had been burned, but he couldn't help but wonder. What if it had never happened? How would things be different?)

John turned the envelope over, trying for one moment to be Sherlock. He couldn't gain much. The stationary looked ordinary at best, with his name scrawled across the front in Jim's feminine handwriting (on occasion he could be _blazingly _gay). It was in red ink, almost the color of blood. John actually would have thought it was blood except the color was off, and the substance too watery. John had a lot of experience in blood, the two professions he'd had; the only person harder to fool was Sherlock.

_A messag_e _or a warning?_ John mused, tearing open the letter carefully. There were two things inside. The first was a memory stick, the second a note. Needless to say John grabbed the memory stick first, commandeering Lestrade's computer before the DI could protest and sticking it in.

The only thing on it was a video file, around five minutes long, In the title it said "READ NOTE FIRST". Slowly John took the note out of the envelope, and his breath caught in his throat.

_You made my pet break the rules, Doctor Watson, but I'm not _

_allowed to punish you for it. This will have to suffice._

_~SM_

SM could be the initials of any criminal that Jim had helped put away, John knew, but there was something familiar in the wording to where he just knew it was Seb. The man had been out of prison for almost twelve years. Why was he coming back then?

John clicked the video.

It started harmlessly enough. A brown head of hair and the slight movements of the camera (probably a build in webcam rather than a tricorder). The head pulled away, turning quickly and not showing the face to reveal a large bed from a side angle. A single form lay on it, face down, with black locks hiding any of his features. Even if his hair hadn't been, his arms cuffed to the headboard would have. Despite this John recognized him immediately, seeing the pale scars on ivory skin and how he was mostly muscle and bone. That only confirmed it was Seb doing this. Who else, after all, would want to take Jim?

The brunette that had set up the camera came into view again, a riding crop clutched tightly in his hand in some parody of Sherlock beating on a corpse. John closed his eyes when he saw the weapon raising, and could actually _hear_ it coming down with a force that nearly drew blood.

Hazel eyes flicked open when there wasn't a single sound following, and he almost lost his lunch at the sight that he met. Seb's hand, trailing up and down the new wound as he leaned down, lips meeting and Jim's temple in faux affection.

"Remember how it was always a couple of hits or small cuts whenever you didn't do as asked, James?" He asked, voice husky in arousal and John could feel bile rising in his throat. "You've broken a lot of rules. I think ten, maybe twenty to start with. Then we can move on to something more fun."

Suddenly, he stepped back, the riding crop hitting in a flash at the same spot, and this time it did draw a hint of blood. Jim whimpered, small tremors vibrating from him. Seb scowled, taking a fistful of dark locks and pulling sharply, exposing the dark bruise forming on Jim's cheek.

"Not a _sound_ unless I tell you." The older man said, voice barely above an animalistic growl. "Now apologize."

Jim's breath hitched, and he nodded. "I-I-I'm sorry, s-s-sir."

Instead of giving any sort of reaction Seb's face went blank. He set the riding crop down, face drawing back slightly to it's former scowl as he placed two hands on Jim's arm, bringing it up and forcing the handcuffs to rub even more on the already red skin. He bent down, whispering something in Jim's ear, and promptly snapped the younger man's wrist. Jim screamed this time, tears rolling down his face and Seb just smiled.

"You really are stupid," he said affectionately, fingers stroking odd patterns over Jim's back. "You could never follow one simple order. Another stutter and I will break your hand to go with that, okay?" Jim nodded. "What do we say when given and order, James?"

After a moment Jim took a shuddering breath, glancing at the camera. "Yes, si-"

The video cut off, leaving three words stuck on the screen.

**MORE TO COME.**

{][][}

**A/N: -_-' Sorry that took so long, whoever's still reading and being patient with me. For some reason this chapter didn't like me, and on top of that it turned out a lot shorter than I wanted it to. (I was pining for at least 2500.) Hopefully I can do the next one by next week and have it be longer.**

**Oh, I love torture scenes. ^_^ They've always been one of my strong suits. I will leave the opinion that it's actually good up to you guys though.**

**Seb is far too much fun to write... And on that note:**

**Yes? No? Maybe so? What did ya'll think?**

**~Piki :B**


	6. Chapter 6

Even just after the first session Jim's sense of time was warping. He wasn't counting seconds anymore, or trying to guess minutes. Time crept along slowly with each new injury. So, of course, that's how he started judging. By the time Seb stated to undo the cuffs it was twenty-one hits with the riding crop, several actually drawing blood, one small scrap with a knife on his shoulder, his wrist had been broken, and his ankle had been twisted. After he got his wrist broken, from what he could tell, it had been taken slowly. It was almost how you would treat a lover.

He sobbed quietly as Seb brought him up, keeping one hand over Jim's bloodied back to keep control through pain. The older man smiled, roughly pushing his pet to the front room.

The laptop had been set up on the coffee table, the page open on some video chat site. Jim shuddered, trying desperately to keep pace. The twisted ankle made it much more difficult, and every time he stumbled Seb just smirked. The younger man really didn't like what that could mean. Of course, he still deserved it, but that wouldn't make the process any less painful.

Mum always said breaking the rules got appropriate consequences. Maybe this was some sort of karmic action for Carl? Or even when John got hurt. There were so many things this could be punishment for.

He stumbled on to the couch, hands folding onto his lap and eyes down. Seb nodded approvingly, sitting down beside him on the black and white couch. A small smile traced its way onto his lips and Jim swallowed harshly. He didn't like not knowing what was going on. If it wouldn't have broken the rules he probably would have asked. It turned out he didn't have to.

"We're going to show Johnny-boy that you're okay." Seb instructed, fingers flying over the keyboard. "I want you to make it perfectly clear that everything happening is of your own choice and that you are in complete control of the situation. Make sure to stress that you _don't want to see him_." He leaned back, grasping Jim's wrist and smiling as the bones grated against each other. "You do anything to hint at a location or try and deviate from my instructions then I will break you, James." Except he was already broken, so what would the point really be?

Still, he nodded, trying desperately to keep his breathing even. A familiar face popped up on the screen, though by no stretch of the imagination was it John.

"Jim!" Lestrade's shocked voice rang through the air, and Jim looked down in the futile hope his hair would cover the bruise on his cheek. "What the hell is going on? John's refusing to tell me. Pacing around front, worried out of his mind about you."

The dark haired man winced slightly, glancing up into the warm eyes of the DI. "I-I need to speak with John, sir." With a nod he walked off, leaving the camera poised on an empty chair. Jim could barely hear hushed voices in the background, and his heart fluttered when he heard the words "trace" and "find him". It sunk just as quickly with the realization that would soon stop.

Once again Seb took his wrist, squeezing the damaged appendage just enough for pain to jolt up Jim's arm. Probably for the stutter. However slight, it would always be one of Seb's largest rules.

With this thought in mind he took a deep, shuddering breath, and waited for John to come on.

{][][}

John paced anxiously outside of Lestrade's office. It had been almost half an hour since he got the video message, and he was honestly worried about what could have been happening to Jim. Were his injuries worse? Was he okay? Was he even alive, or was he just another corpse to be found in the Thames already? Okay, he was probably alive, but Lord knew if it was just physical. Jim's mind was one of his greatest attributes, no matter what anyone said, and without that… without that he would break.

It's as he's running a hand through his hair, cursing himself silently (_if you hadn't reacted to the kiss the way you did he wouldn't have ran, he wouldn't be _hurt) that Lestrade comes out, muttering something to Sally about tracing a vid chat on his computer. John can feel a sudden weight come off his shoulders at what that meant; Jim was making live contact. The younger man is, well, not fine, but to the very least not passed out in a pool of his own blood. Or maybe he is, and it's not him calling. But John ignores that, and hopes dearly that it is in fact his friend.

(_Boyfriend_, a small part of him whispers, and it sounds oddly like the skull. _You're bi, he's gay, he kissed you and you know you've been waiting for that, so let's just admit that he's your unofficial boyfriend here._)

"He's calling," the older man says, but he doesn't smile. "He already looks a bit worse for wear -more than what we saw- and we need to find him in the next twenty-four hours or we might be cleaning a corpse at this rate. He's asking for you. Keep him talking and we might be able to trace where the signal's coming from." John nodded, walking quickly into the DI's office and sitting at the chair in front of the computer. He took a brief moment to look over Jim before saying anything.

The younger man was looking down, as though afraid of when John would arrive, though he occasionally glanced to his right. (That was probably where Seb was, keeping hold on the broken wrist in case he needed to use it for manipulation.) The bruise which had been forming was now fully visible against pale skin, but Jim did everything he could to hide any pain from his features. His breathing was carefully even, like when he was at work and trying not to stutter in front of his boss to ask for a day off.

"Jim," the blond said quietly, and Jim's head snapped up. "Are you all right?"

Slowly, he shook his head, casting his eyes downward. "I'll be fine. I asked for this." John raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to one side.

"Literally or figuratively?" He kept his tone calm and concerned, trying to convey what I meant. _You don't deserve this, Jim. You don't._

"B-Both." The dark haired man muttered. _Yes I do. You know I do, and I'm sorry._

He suddenly winced, jerking back from the camera with wide eyes.

John practically jumped forward, hazel eye shinning with concern. "Jim! Are you okay? Tell me you're okay Jim." He paused. "Tell me where I can get you, Jim. _Please_ tell me where I can find you. A general area, where you were picked up."

The younger man shook his head, clearly trying not to cry. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I can't tell you, John. Please, please don't start looking. I don't deserve it John, I don't." His breath hitched, and there was a growl from off screen. "I'm sorry, John, I'm sor-"

And for the second time the video was cut off. John deflated into his seat, head in hands. He'd been trying so _hard_ over the years with Jim, but everything always seemed to go over the younger man's head. Self-preservation, the power of his own intelligence, _self-worth_ for God's sake! He had no idea what happened, but Jim never got it. And now he never would.

Because as little as John knew he'd seen the files. After he started working with Sherlock he, occasionally, got access to old cases, and he took anything with the name "Jim Hartford" or "Jim Moriarty". Unsurprisingly there wasn't as much as John would have liked, with large chunks missing between years or even months and weeks. Important details were lost in the transfer or by fear. But it was enough to get and idea of things. Jim's life before they met. More importantly, Jim's life involving Seb.

It started when Jim was seven.

There were reports, far too many of them, of signs of violence sent to Child Services from the school. But the placement, the size of the bruising, stopped any action from being taken. After all, Jim wasn't popular, he was teased a lot, so it only made sense that he would get in the occasional fight too. If someone had bothered to intervene maybe things would have been found out sooner.

Still, this went on for three years. Reports filed, no one does a goddamn thing. And then Carl Power's died and everything got suddenly worse. The two of them met, and suddenly there were several reports, all by different teacher's, but still no one did anything. They couldn't, and Jim denied that there was even anything going on. Of course he did. When you got used to something, no matter what it was, you tried to keep it; with Jim that was doubly true. He'd never had many people or possessions in his life, and routine was always very dear to him. Even knowing that Seb would likely cause his untimely death he tried to protect it. Protected that link to one of the few "friends" he had.

Then, of course, John knew what happened from there, albeit in bits and pieces. He remembered standing in front of Jim with Seb in front of him, but not much after that until he woke up in the hospital. He had no memory of the past week except for minutes of memory with Jim. Jim had small bruises, but he seemed mostly unscathed from the whole ordeal. He was more quiet after that, and tried desperately to please.

Of course, the medical report was another matter entirely.

Jim went under an incredible amount of stress, not being able to see his friend in the hospital because his mum "couldn't" take him. He actually became physically ill at school for an entire day, needing to rest in the nurse's office with small doses of a natural anxiety medication. For almost a month after the incident he took stress relievers and small doses of sleeping pills until they mysteriously disappeared. (John thought it was Mrs. Hartford, who had always seemed depressed and edgy, but he hadn't had a way to prove it back then.) And just like that all the damage was firmly set in place.

Attempted reversal of seven years of that was a long, slow process. John had finally been getting close. Jim was getting better and reaching out, but still it was a long road.

And now all those years of progress were being unwound.

It was John's fault, really. Maybe if he'd reacted a bit differently Jim wouldn't have stormed off and this wouldn't have been happening.

The blonde jumped suddenly as a hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up to see a familiar pair of tired brown eyes. Lestrade smirked slightly, motioning out of the chair. John gave a weary smile back, standing up and allowing the DI to take his desk back.

"We have a general location." Lestrade said, sinking down into his chair. "Incredibly general. We have about a five mile radius of where he could be. The only problem is that it's full of apartment buildings and in one of the neighborhoods this isn't what one would call abnormal." He grimaced and John ran a hand through his hair.

"So unless we get something like that again…"

"…It's going to take a while to find him, yes."

John put his head in one hand, sighing heavily. "Call me if there are any new developments. Thank you, Greg." The grey haired man nodded, a small smile cracking on his lips.

"I've known Jim as long as I've known you. He's a good man who's gotten dealt a few crappy hands, but he'll pull though. He has before."

Nodding silently John made his way from the room.

{][][}

"Guilt complex, little brother?"

Sherlock scowled, ignoring Mycroft as he continued down the street of the average looking neighborhood. He shouldn't have been surprised. Mycroft was always sticking his big nose where it didn't belong. He always seemed more interested in matters which included Jim, as though the younger man would pull a 180 at any moment.

(Of course he had tried going in his elder brother's files to find out why, but anything pertaining to the Angels Unit was securely locked up. Being the head of the large government department had its perks, like having the last surviving copy of Jim's pre-Angel file. No matter how much Sherlock pestered he refused to give it up though, which only frustrated the detective more. He hated being in the dark about anything.)

The sound of Mycroft's umbrella on the pavement trailed behind him, making Sherlock's scowl deepen as his eyes scanned the streets. There had to be a sign _somewhere._ People couldn't just disappear without a trace, and he had heard a small bit about Northumberland Street while Jim was on the phone. There area would have to be within a fifteen minute driving distance of that (around five miles) based on the message he'd listened to on John's phone.

The government's footsteps sped up, and it was mere seconds before he was caught up with his younger sibling. All Sherlock could think was, _damn him and his extra four inches!*_ Because, really, four inches of added height could make all the difference. Especially when that added height was actually more to the legs.

As Sherlock though; damn him.

"You aren't going to find him, Sherlock. _We _haven't even found him yet, and his usual tracking device was destroyed when the apartments blew up." For once his tone held none of the usual mocking or superiority. It was almost resigned, a tone Sherlock had never heard from his brother.

Instead of showing how much this really disheveled him the younger man scoffed. It was times like this when he knew, on occasion, he greatly _over_estimated the British government and the true range of Mycroft's power. In truth he was not, actually, the man behind the curtain. All he had was the Angels, which in turn gave him control over some security cameras, a few little henchmen, and some nice tech. All very impressive, but not what they needed.

Still, despite the sudden silence, Mycroft continued. "I've been talking with Sullivan about this."

Sherlock winced slightly. He had met the near five hundred year old half-angel. He was not the most pleasant person, even in comparison to anyone in the Holmes family. He was a cynic, crotchety, and would hardly take yes as an answer.

"He thinks I should let this go." He sighed, absently twirling the old (very old) drolly at his side. "Jim's been a lost cause for a long time now. What's happening now shouldn't even be happening. Without interference you would be at a pool right now handing over missile plans with John strapped to a bomb. If John never came into the picture Moran would still be in Sussex. No matter what we do disaster follows him and we simply can't help. Benton is saying we should let him get killed and just end it."

Sherlock froze on the middle of the sidewalk, watching as his brother casually continued in blatant shock. Mycroft chuckled, and the umbrella clicked as it was brought down.

"We both know I have problems listening to my predecessors though." He turned around, smirking slightly. "I can give some resources to aid your search, and of course I'll be keeping an eye out. Allison and Kayley are heading up tonight, see if they sense anything."

"Sense?" The younger asked, deflating slightly as he continued walking.

The elder shrugged, umbrella swinging again. "Angels gain a mildly psychic connection to a permanent charge. Every time something is wrong they know. There's never a time when they "drop by" just to visit, even if they don't know it." A nod.

"So if Jim was feeling something like an intense fear or pain…"

"They would drop to the ground if the wings they used were theirs and not just some very good technology."

Cocking his head to one side the detective spoke. "Surely this would still only give them a general area?"

Mycroft scoffed.

"Less general than a five mile radius. We'd have, maybe, two blocks to search rather than five miles in every direction."

Without another word the two brothers walked on, silence falling over the streets. Sharp eyes scanned the streets as the sun fell on the horizon, and the Holmes' were lost in the night.

{][][}

***Who can guess what fanfiction _that's _from? XD Whoever guesses right first gets a prompt fill. (There is no garuntee that this prompt will actually be filled, but I will try.)**

**A/N: Bugger Mycroft! why does he have to be so hard to write? (He's the only reason this chaoter took so long. Literally the only reason. Everything else was done by day two. Mycroft though? Nooo, you have to be difficult.)**

**Once again it feels like the flow is missing. Grr. And it's probably error filled too... So sorry for any typos and the big one(s) in the previous chapter. So, yeah.**

**Reviews, we all love 'em. ^_^ Also, torture ideas are appreciated. I have plently, but it's nice to get opinions.**

**~Piki :B**


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